Wounds That Do Not Heal

By Emmanuelle             from  Sunday Punch and Emmanuelle Digital Library

You must read this through to the end to see the why of it:

Mae has had this wound since grade school. It should have scarred through the years. It should have healed. It did not.

It is one of those wounds that pierce through thin skin, stab through the heart, and stay there to root or to rot. It is more than mere pin of a pain; it is a knife, a sword.

Let me tell you her tale. Then, I will let you tell yours.

Mae has this gift:  when she hears a sound or when she sees a word, a spool of tape clicks on in her skull, and the sound or the word finds its slot for a home. It beds there, and it wakes up when she calls. She needs no notes, but she fills her bag with pads of no notes. You see, she has this deep need: to be just like you, just like me. To be what she must seem to be, she must keep the norm.

In her mind, Mae scores no wrongs with a test, but she makes it a point to make a wrong or two. To be just like you, to be just like me.

You must think: it must be a strain or it must be a bore, to be Mae. To be on watch all of the time, to make one’s self seem to be just like you, just like me.  Mae does not think so. To her, it is one big game. Score them all right this time. Then next time, leave a blank, write a wrong.

She leaves a clue, though, to the wise Teach: the blank or the wrong is the one most easy.

No Teach was that wise to see.

So, Mae goes through the years top of her class, till near end of high school when Ann, a girl she grew up with, fares more than Mae. To Mae, it was all right, if the girl jumped to top, as long as she jumped right and she jumped high. This girl seems to score no wrong. Mae thinks: has Ann got my gift too? But Mae knew the girl all her life. And the girl’s aunts who all teach. With no fail, they were all there at the end of each term. They pour over both Mae’s and the girl’s scores to check, to make sure. They do it for Ann. No one does it for Mae.

This year, one of those aunts, with whom Ann lives with, is Teach to the class twice. Plus, this Teach is their class guide. If Mae had read her first S. Holmes book at eight years of age, at her teens she had since spied with a thick pile of PI. There was no doubt, Mae smells the stink of the fish.

Mae sets out to sniff the fish out. At long tests, she sees to it that she sits at   where she can see Ann. And in one of these times, luck smiled. Ann writes nice but slow. When she was still a long way to the end of the test, the bell rings for all hands to stop, up the pen, and pass the sheets. Ann pulls out fast a sheet with all blanks filled, all too clean with no scrawls. Mae sees it is not the sheet Ann worked on hard for the past hour. That was still on Ann’s desk, with her arm on top.

When   checked, Ann’s passed sheet shall be all rights and no wrong.

It was a sham. It was a shock. Still stunned, Mae goes to the head of the school. The head calls for the Teach. He and the Teach talk with doors closed. He and the Teach come out, with his arm around her shoulders. Mae sees the arm. Mae sees their eyes. Mae’s heart sinks.

The wound was struck at this point. It does not pay to scale a fish though it stinks bad. The knife may turn on the one who wields the knife. The knife shall then scale her own skin down to none.

Mae was barred out of her own class for two months. Then, she was gone.  

The school hears of her, now and then, as the town’s strong strange one who “fights for a cause.”  What fired her first and what keeps her on it, no one knows.

O, wise ones, do you know?

This tale is true. There are more as true. If you know of one and would like to share it with us, call or send an SMS to 09175062609.

Some wounds we might help heal.

(Author’s Note: Other than the above reason, this article was written to win a friendly contest with writer-friends. I proved I can write using one-syllable words. Go over it, and check it out. Author’s Note not included. Of course.) 


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